Lilian Pala - Islands of Socialism

Essay HTS, Term 1, AA 2019-2020 Architectures in Revolution and Necromancing the Stone Lilian Pala

Islands of Socialism —Socialist Realist Urban Design in Central Europe

Socialist realism has an ambiguous reputation, and is being dismissed as either mediocre state art, monumental kitsch architecture, or due to being—technically—Joseph V. Stalin’s legacy, as manifestation of ‘evil’.1 Often repressed or neglected, sometimes commercialised, socialist realist architecture constitutes a particular heritage in the former satellite states of the Soviet Union.2 Yet beyond its undoubtedly problematic political status, socialist realist new towns realised roughly between 1945 and 1955, reveal an intriguing ambiguity between future and past architectural as well as ideological concepts. These settlements tell a tale about the contested ground of the intermediary urban scale where tradition and technocracy, modernist and baroque urban concepts, but also ideology and reality, ambitions and limited resources, as well as state planning and authorship meet. The nested perimeter block as weapon of choice offered thereby the socialist states’ architects the possibility for reconciliation of these inherent contradictions.

Socialist realist art and architecture were being implemented by the Soviet Union in its satellite states from 1946 onwards but found an abrupt halt after Stalin’s death 1953 through Nikita Khrushchev’s subsequent condemnation.3 The doctrine consisted of a two-part demand on fine arts and architecture, i.e. to be ‘socialist in content’ and ‘national in form’ leaving architects above all with the paradoxical task to translate ideology into space.

The short period of occurrence of socialist realist architecture deserves closer attention precisely because it brackets an undiluted urbanist project as it were, in the case of towns ex novo in particular. Despite its short time, it was a project with an immense geographic reach, why the focus here will be upon a sample of cases in Central Europe. Through a close reading of three cases studies—Nowa Huta in the former People’s Republic of Poland, Stalinstadt in the former German Democratic Republic, and Nová Ostrava in former Czechoslovakia—the essay will argue that the doctrine of socialist realism led to different conceptions of these new towns. Due to the doctrine’s ambiguity in relation to architecture, its two parts

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For the discussion about the comparison of fascism, especially Nazism, and Stalinism, see Hanna Arendt, Elemente und Ursprünge totaler Herrschaft. Antisemitismus, Imperialismus, totale Herrschaft (München: Piper Verlag, 1991).

2 Cf. Rasa Balockaite, “Coping with the Unwanted Past in Planned Socialist Towns: Visaginas, Tychy, and Nowa Huta”, Slovo 24, no. 1 (Spring 2012): 41-57.

3 See Khrushchev’s speech at the All-Union Conference of Builders, Architects, and Building Industry Workers in 1954, as well as his speech “On the Cult of Personality and Its Consequences” at the Congress of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union in 1956—the later called ‘Secret Speech’.

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were negotiated case by case; revealing an approach of enforcement in Nowa Huta, an attempt of codifying the doctrine in Stalinstadt, and the trial of reconciliation in Nová Ostrava, respectively. Tracing the tension between the ‘socialist content’ and ‘national form’ will further reveal a trajectory of technocratic planning.

Despite the initial similarities, and despite the prevailing notion of a homogeneous Eastern Bloc, the conceptually ambiguous space of perimeter block will show a nuanced image of the socialist realist heritage.

i.

A Modernist Legacy and the Doctrine of Socialist Realism

The countries of Central Europe—Germany, Austria, Czechoslovakia, Hungary, and Poland—share similar historical roots and cultural traditions, having been part of the empires of Germany, Austria-Hungary, and Russia. After the First World War, revolutionary Russia’s renouncement of claims to Poland, and the collapse of Habsburg Austria-Hungary set Poland and Czechoslovakia free, both emerging as nation states out of national movements, whereas Germany’s defeat led to the establishment of the German Empire as republic, later known as the Weimar Republic. The post-monarchic states were faced with the destructions of the war, as well as the overcoming of former territorial partitions—challenges which could only be addressed as strong central states, and which left them therefore especially receptible to nationalist and socialist ideologies. The Second Polish Republic and Czechoslovakia assumed the major tasks of reconstruction and re-organisation through a technocratic modernisation, in line with the prevalent climate across Europe.4 The agents of these large-scale transformations were first and foremost engineers. As ‘neutral’ experts, they were aligning themselves with the government, envisioning the new nation. Due to the lack of private investors and the scale of the tasks, the states often assumed responsibilities usually completed by local authorities. This was not only a matter of social provisions, but also of political legitimacy, both domestically as well as internationally. Planning—and thereby urbanism as well as mass housing—became interlinked with the state’s aspirations, elevating the architects to experts and social engineers well beyond their professional frame of reference. Modernist architects believed to bring about societal and economic change trough the employment of ‘scientific’ methods, i.e. rationalisation and standardisation, in urbanism and housing. Grouped around issues, not their professions anymore—sociologists, geographers, anthropologists, and engineers being part of the process—the self-aware architects took part in establishing modernism as transnational movement proper, further consolidating the link between political prowess and technocratic internationalism. Planning was imbued with a visionary and utopian dimension.5

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Cf. Martin Kohlrausch, Brokers of Modernity. East Central Europe and the Rise of Modernist Architects, 1910-1950.

(Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2019), 37, 43f.

5 Cf. Kohlrausch, Brokers of Modernity, 27, 43f, 48, 54f, 61, 81, 83, 89f, 100ff.

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Socialist realism as programme and method was conceived in Soviet Russia, tying on the realist movement, which emphasised a realistic representation of the everyday life and work of the lower classes. Realism was therefore considered as adequate artistic expression of the new socialist society after the October Revolution in 1917. This consideration was subsequently extended by Stalin, as art had to illustrate the MarxistLeninist ideology, as well as the positive aspects of socialism. The corollary was a directive for literature, fine arts, and music by the Central Committee of the Communist Party, as well as the formation of the Union of Soviet Writers in 1932. This was the moment, when realism was transformed into a method, and institutionalised. The difference to realist art was to be found in the choice of topics, and in relation to reality: Ideology stood at the forefront, not truth, i.e. a utopian future with a happy and healthy society was depicted, often in stark contrast to the actual conditions of famine and poverty.6 The term ‘socialist realism’ itself was coined at the first Congress of All-Soviet Writers in 1934, in the speeches of Andrei Zhdanov and the writer Maxim Gorky.7 Although socialist realism was adopted in reference to the fine arts and literature, it was applied to architecture as well—where the didactic demand and the aspiration to appeal to the masses were much less defined. How not to do appropriate architecture seemed apparent: Formalism, nihilism, constructivism, influences of Anglo-Saxon urban planning, and especially Le Corbusier’s super-urbanism were considered particularly dangerous. Yet, it was in contact with the real world—as architecture happens to be a part of—where the pure ideology was the most contaminated, and where a compromise had to be struck. Not only had socialist architecture to draw form national heritage while condemning formalist and nationalist tendencies of the previous era. Far more paradoxically, it had as part of the international communism to refer to national and historical patterns individually in each country. Henceforth, the oxymoronic requirement for architecture was to be ‘socialist in content—national in form’.8 As a consequence, socialist realist architecture was interpreted in quite different manners. While the Soviet Russian examples of socialist realist architecture often tended to be excessively decorated in a classicist style, and monumental in scale—well reflected in the German term Zuckerbäckerstil9, i.e.

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The famous painting “Bread”, 1949, by Tetyana Yablonskaya shows this relation exemplary. The painting is full of life, depicting happy farmers filling heaps of wheat into bags—but, during the Soviet famine of 1946-1947. It is fulfilling its ideological aim in a method to be understood by the public with flying colours and was hence awarded the State Stalin Prize 1949.

Cf. Zuzana Biľová, “Der sozialistische Realismus in der ČSSR und die Modifikationen nach 1968”, in Gesetze der Kunst. Regeln, Recht und Rituale, ed. by Zuzana Biľová et al. (Berlin/Münster: LIT Verlag, 2017), 132.

7 Other accounts suggest the first use of the notion of ‘socialist realism’ to be found in an article of the writer Ivan Gronsky, the then president of the Union of Soviet Writers, in 1932.

Cf. Tereza Petišková, Československý socialistický realismus, 1948-1958 (Prague: Gallery, 2002), 7.

8 Cf. Ruth May, “Planned City Stalinstadt: A Manifesto of the Early German Democratic Republic”, Planning Perspectives 18, no. 1 (2003): 55.

Cf. Petišková, Československý socialistický realismus, 7f.

Cf. Biľová, “Der sozialistische Realismus”, 131ff.

Cf. Jarosław Zieliński, Realizm socjalistyczny w Warzsawie. Urbanistyka i architektura (1949-1956), (Warsaw: Fundacja Hereditas, 2009), 39f, 46, 48.

9 Zuckerbäckerstil of course refers to the cake-like properties of the layers, decorations, and tiers of the monumental socialist realist buildings. The Russian term is Stalinist Empire, carrying the additional—and rightful—connotation

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confectioner style—other countries of the Eastern Bloc found their references and precursors beside their national heritage, in both Renaissance and baroque style and urbanism, Beaux-Arts city planning, 19th century company towns, the garden city, and Viennese superblocks, to name a few. In urbanism, the city centre was emphasised, and the perimeter block became the predominant typology, as will be further discussed in the case studies.10 Socialist realism’s end was induced quite abruptly through Stalin’s death in 1953, and eventually accomplished through Nikita Khrushchev’s condemnation of Stalin’s cult of personality in 1956.11

ii.

Cost of Ideology—Nowa Huta

Ideology is postulating desirable values for the future, drawing a picture of the future. And architecture, by its very nature, shapes buildings designed for a long duration. Ideology finds a great form of embodiment in architecture. How better can we present our goals if not with the help of panoramas and models of new cities? A picture of the future is an ideological weapon.12

If the tasks of reconstruction in 1918 were momentous, those the Polish people faced after the Second World War were beyond imagination. Fiercely optimistic, the totality of the destruction was reinterpreted as offering a tabula rasa for development by what was left of the modernist movement. Thus, during the transition period between 1945 and 1949, enormous tasks were taken on by the newly founded and centralised institutions13 concerned with reconstruction, planning and housing. The Workers’ Estate Board (ZOR—Ogólnopolski Zakład Osiedli Robotniczych)14 among them would be responsible for planning construction of housing units for the population employed in industry. It would build a staggering 80% of

of the political aim that style stood for. Interestingly, even if a country had its ‘own’ version of architectural socialist realism, the more pressure applied or funding granted directly by Soviet Russia, the more Zuckerbäcker the buildings ended up being: An infamous example is the Palace of Culture and Science in Warsaw, matter-of-factly dubbed as ‘gift from the Soviet people’.

10 Cf. Zieliński, Realizm socjalistyczny, 50f.

11 See Khrushchev’s speech at the All-Union Conference of Builders, Architects, and Building Industry Workers in 1954, as well as his speech “On the Cult of Personality and Its Consequences” at the Congress of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union in 1956—the later called ‘Secret Speech’ 12 Bierut in an interview with Goldzamt, quoted in Zieliński, Realizm socjalistyczny, 39. Translation from Polish by the author.

13 1945 saw the foundation of the Office for the Reconstruction of the Capital, the Ministry of Reconstruction, and the Central Office for Town and Country Planning. In 1949 the Institute of Housing, the Institute of Town Planning and Architecture, the Workers’ Estate Board, the Institutes of Building Technology, of Organisation, of Mechanisation of Construction, of Public Services and so forth were established. From 1952 on, these researches were to be co-ordinated by the Polish Academy of Sciences.

Cf. Prszemysław Trzeciak, Building and Architecture in Poland, 1945-1966, (Warsaw: Interpress Publishers, 1968), 11, 14f.

14 From 1951 onwards Board of Construction of Towns and Settlements (ZOR—Centralny Zarząd Budowy Miast i Osiedli). It was established by a decree in 1948 and subordinated to the Central Office for Town and Country Planning. Throughout the 1940s and 1950s it was the only investment body for housing construction.

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the new dwellings in the capital alone, substantial mass housing nation-wide, and two whole new towns, Nowe Tychy and Nowa Huta.15 1945 also saw the planning of the largest post-war heavy industrial investment in Poland: Due to a shortage, the most modern iron- and steelworks were to be built with Soviet-American co-operation, meant to supply markets throughout the entire country. The site selected was on the edge of the Upper Silesian Industrial District in the vicinity of Gliwice. However, Poland withdrew under Soviet pressure from the Marshall Plan in 1947 and signed the Polish-Soviet Trade Treaty in 1948, causing an American embargo that prevented the new plant’s rolling mill equipment from leaving the US—thus changing the plans for the steelworks drastically. Together with the intensification of the Soviet Union’s influence within the framework of the first Six-Year Plan from 1950 to 1955, came the attempt to create an ideological basis for urban policies. This meant a clear shift towards heavy industry as tool to accomplish ideological goals.

Plans for urban development were subordinated to plans for industrial growth, and where architectural projects during the transition period were still modernist, after the promulgation of the Polish People’s Republic, they had to follow the doctrine of socialist realism—at least formally. Members of the former architectural avant-garde usually aligned themselves with the Communist regime, many of them out of conviction. Yet the forced industrialisation eliminated the possibility for a ‘Polish road to socialism’, on a political but particularly on an architectural level.16 Henceforth, the project for the new steelworks was pursued with the Soviet Union’s technical assistance and heavy funding. A new location was chosen in the vicinity of Kraków, much to the discontent of the Polish experts. The decision for the new site was notably based on a growth pole theory17 and thus on political criteria: The steelworks and the associated new town would cause the relocation of the Kraków airport, and above that, destroy particularly fertile farmland and the small villages of Mogiła and Pleszów.

Nowa Huta, ‘new smeltery’ as the town was named, was meant to facilitate the diffusion of the working class into intellectual Kraków—a city without Communist tradition—, as well as to turn the rural area around it into an industrialised one. Yet, the decision for the location was perceived by Kraków’s population

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Cf. Lydia de Lille Courdroy, “Le logement en République populaire de Pologne. Du ‘déficit’ à la ‘crise’”, Le Mouvement Social 245, no. 4 (2013): 4.

Cf. Katherine Lebow, Unfinished Utopia. Nowa Huta, Stalinism, and Polish Society, 1949-56, (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2013), 22.

Cf. Trzeciak, Building and Architecture, 11, 14.

16 Cf. Tadeusz Barucki, Architektura Polski, (Warsaw: Arkady, 1985), 149.

Cf. Dagmara Jajeśniak-Quast, “In the Shadow of the Factory: Steel Towns in Postwar Eastern Europe”, in Urban Machinery. Inside Modern European Cities, ed. Mikael Hård and Thomas J. Misa (Cambridge, Massachusetts: MIT Press, 2008), 192f.

Cf. Lebow, Unfinished Utopia, 16, 25ff.

Cf. Joanna Regulska, “Urban Development under Socialism: The Polish Experience”, Urban Geography 8, no. 4 (1987): 323, 325ff.

Cf. Andrew Ryder, “Growth Pole Policy in Poland and the Lenin Steel-works”, Geoforum 21, no. 2 (1990): 231f.

Cf. Zieliński, Realizm socjalistyczny, 39, 55, 59f.

17 See Ryder, “Growth Pole”, 229-244, for the growth pole theory.

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as punishment for the weak vote in the 1946 referendum18, which was unfavourable to the de facto Communist regime. As a counteraction, Nowa Huta was embedded in heroic propaganda: It was to become Poland’s ‘first socialist city’, representing a new kind of civilisation, where ‘new Soviet men’, i.e. the heroes of socialist labour, were forged. The ‘great building site of socialism’ as Nowa Huta was epitomised, started late in 1949, the Lenin Steelworks (HiL—Huta im. Lenina) eventually opened in 1954.19 A competition was held in 1949, and under the classified submissions Tadeusz Ptaszycki’s proposal had momentum. The baroque radial urban layout with three big axes meeting on a central square is fulfils the demand for a grand gesture and would have appeased possible critique from the Soviets.20 But Ptaszycki envisioned the new town also to be full of light and greenery, drawing undeniably from models outside the Soviet canon. Anglo-Saxon garden cities and pre-war modernism probably yielded the concept for the use of greenery between the blocks and for a sense of spatiality. The motif of the patte d’oie is in that respect particularly telling and reveals a double reference: Not only used in baroque or absolutistic layouts as in Vaux le Vicomte or Versailles, it was also a recurring theme in garden cities as the Welwyn Garden City or the Hampstead Garden Suburb. The difference to garden cities are of course the buildings. Multi-storeyed perimeter blocks are running along the main axes and are divided by a couple of lateral streets only, thus forming separate estates without breaking the sense of monumentality. These estates are further divided by blocks inside the courtyards, sometimes forming a kind of cour d’honneur motif. The square at the convergence of the axes was marking the (geometric) centre of the whole town before its expansion and is flanked by blocks with slightly higher corner buildings, adding to the perceived monumentality.

Noteworthily, the staircases to the apartments still are all accessed from the interior of the blocks, similar to the inward-looking perimeter blocks of the Red Vienna programme from the 1920s. Since there are no doors on the streets, some authors argue, the configuration was not very pedestrian-friendly, reinforcing further the inhabitant’s identity with the urban block rather than the rest of the town.21 However, shops and restaurants were fitted in the ground floor of the apartment blocks, and shared integrated facilities were 18

The People’s referendum of 1946 presented the opportunity to test the popularity of the forces vying for political control in Poland. It was seen as unofficially deciding whether the citizens were supporting communism or not.

Comprising three questions, the pro-communist Democratic Bloc’s propaganda urged the people to vote ‘three times yes’. The results of the vote were heavily compromised, yet despite oppositional protest declared free and fair. Kraków’s opposition managed to ensure the fairness of the vote, obtaining quite different results.

19 Cf. Jajeśniak-Quast, “In the Shadow of the Factory”, 192f.

Cf. Lebow, Unfinished Utopia, 13ff.

Cf. Regulska, “Urban Development”, 328.

Cf. Ryder, “Growth Pole”, 234.

Cf. Alison Stenning, “Placing (Post-)Socialism. The Making and Remaking of Nowa Huta, Poland”, European Urban and Regional Studies 7, no. 2, (2000): 101.

20 Indeed, the use of baroque references was an ambivalent issue. Its connection to an absolutistic power was appreciated, but—alas—it was also the architecture of the counter-reformation. In any case, curvilinear baroque buildings never appeared as references in socialist realism.

21 Cf. Ivor Samuels and Anna Agata Kantarek, “Streets are Not Enough: The Introverted Block as Neglected Type”, Focus 15, (2019): 75. According to Samuels and Kantarek, this circumstance is further aggravated by the postal addresses set by urban block number rather than street address.

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easily accessible due to the connectivity within the semi-private spaces of the courtyards. As will be addressed later, these spaces were most probably responsible for the social cohesion of the neighbourhoods and thus spaces of solidarity. The blocks themselves were represented in a mostly classicistic vocabulary with tripartite but plain façades, sometimes rustified pediments, and pilasters. Renaissance references were applied as well, most literally for the steelworks’ administration building resembling a palazzo—although granting the architects national precedents as the Ratusz Pozńan, and therefore the fulfilment of the socialist realist dictum to be ‘national in form and socialist in content’.22 Within the framework of the ZOR, Ptaszycki acted as head architect of a vast group of young architects, delivering the design under a lot of pressure within less than a year—construction of the first block started even before the general plan was completely finished. The town was built at an unusually rapid rate, being planned for 100.000 inhabitants, it exceeded 85.000 in 1959 already and was adjusted to 200.000 inhabitants, eventually incorporating the neighbouring settlements, and becoming a part of Kraków. The speed of the construction is particularly astonishing as the blocks were built in masonry and with conventional methods up until mid-1954, requiring enormous masses of bricklayers. Only later were prefabricated materials as large-blocks and breeze blocks used. By then, the masons already acquired a heroic status in the myth of the town’s construction.23 The symbolic and ideological importance of Nowa Huta was clearly inscribed in the townscape.

Emphasising the well-being vis-à-vis the past hardship of the immigrants and the physical work in the foundry, many facilities emphasised leisure—theatres, a cinema, bars, and huge green spaces. Work at the HiL was sought after, the status of the steelworks meant not only salaries that were among the highest in the country, but that they could reserve housing for their employees. These apartments were in high demand, often consisting of two until three bedrooms with a kitchen and bathroom but overcrowding and squatting were a ubiquitous problem. As an important side note, and quite true to the introductory quote, many of the street and neighbourhood names of Nowa Huta as the town’s own name represented the ideological system and its twinning with historic Poland24: Młodosci (‘youth’), Hutnicze (‘metallurgical’), and Stalowe (‘steel’), Gorali (‘highlander’) and Krakowiaków, as well as Słoneczcne (‘sunny’), Zielone (‘green’) and Zgody (‘harmony’).25 22

The tightening of Soviet control over the project meant also, that only the first blocks were referencing utopian concepts or national Polish traditions. The later buildings represent more classic examples of Stalinist socialist realism, as f.ex. the central square with its monumental corners.

Cf. Stenning, “Placing (Post-)Socialism”, 103.

23 Cf. Jack C. Fisher, City and Regional Planning in Poland (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1966), 117f.

Cf. Ptaszycki 1959: Introduction.

Cf. Tzreciak, Building and Architecture, 17.

Cf. Zieliński, Realizm socjalistyczny, 52.

24 Indeed, most Soviet and Central European towns had (street) names after Marx and Lenin, but as Stenning observed, Nowa Huta had a quite interesting range of names.

Cf. Stenning, “Placing (Post-)Socialism”, 102f.

25 Cf. Fisher, City and Regional, 117f.

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Nevertheless, the ideology-driven conception of Nowa Huta meant also a susceptibility to changes in ideology, as large parts remained unrealised due to Stalin’s death, and a quite literal adjustment difficulty towards real conditions: The ‘new men’ found themselves often overwhelmed with the imposition of culture and ambitions—as the pushing for shock workers—and escaped into alcoholism and brawls, others found their refuge in underground youth movements such as the Bikiniarze. In an unexpected twist though, the close neighbourhoods and the work in brigades managed to forge real solidarity among the inhabitants, as the collective struggle for the town’s first church and the strong Solidarność movement show.26

iii.

Uncertain Rules—Stalinstadt Hohe Öfen, blanke Gleise, wache Drähte, junger Mut! Erz vom Freunde wird zu Eisen, Koks vom Nachbar wird zu Glut.

High furnaces, shiny tracks, wake wires, young courage!

Ore from the friend becomes iron, coke from the neighbour becomes embers.27

Just a year after Nowa Huta, ground was broken for the ironworks of Stalinstadt, and many aspects reveal their kinship not only in spirit. Industry as prerequisite for dwelling shaped also the conception of Stalinstadt, and experts involved in the construction of the Polish town were consulted for this other ‘first socialist city’.

With the foundation of the GDR in 1949, the Ministry for Construction (MfA—Ministerium für Aufbau)28 was established, assuming not only technical tasks, but also an ideologically charged programme to rebuild the new state and society. The MfA passed a Reconstruction Act, demanding the planned reconstruction of towns as well as town planning within the national economic plans, meaning that the government obtained the power to dispose of land and property. Industry was therein defined as ‘town Cf. Ryder, “Growth Pole”, 236.

Cf. Stenning, “Placing (Post-)Socialism”, 102f, in particular for the observation about the street and neighbourhood names.

Cf. Trzeciak, Building and Architecture, 17.

Cf. Zieliński, Realizm socjalistyczny, 40.

26 Cf. Lebow, Unfinished Utopia, 16.

Cf. Kimberly Elman Zarecor, “What Was So Socialist about the Socialist City? Second World Urbanity in Europe”, Journal of Urban History, 44, no. 1 (2018): 109.

Cf. Ryder, “Growth Pole”, 238f.

27 Kulturensemble Junge Pioniere Brandenburg, 1952 in: Arbeitsgruppe Stadtgeschichte, ed. Eisenhüttenstadt. Erste sozialistische Stadt Deutschlands, (Berlin-Brandenburg: be.bra Verlag, 1999), 126. Translation from German by the author.

28 The German name of the ministry is much clearer in pointing towards an ideological programme. ‘Aufbau’ is closer to reconstruction in meaning than to construction, and connotated with a new beginning.

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constituting factor’, influencing directly the conception of Stalinstadt. For the new state with a “self-image of a society capable of planning itself in toto” 29, regulations and principles were to become essential. Being cut off by an embargo from the traditional West German suppliers, the GDR lacked the raw materials and the capacity to produce iron and steel. The drafting of the first Five-Year Plan included thus the politically motivated setup of a new own heavy industry. At the third party conference of the Socialist Unity Party of Germany (SED—Sozialistische Einheitspartei Deutschlands) in 1950, it was decided that the core project was to be a new iron and steel combine, accompanied by a residential town. The location for the ironworks was set in the middle of a pine tree forest near the Polish border, the rationale being the transport network of the river Oder and the Oder-Spree Canal and a number of rail connections, the industrialisation of the traditionally agrarian region, as well as the absorption of the repatriates expelled from Germany’s former eastern territories. The decisive—and glorified—reason however was political and concerned the recognition of the new Oder-Neisse border with Poland desiring an eastward-oriented economic policy.

Iron ore and coke were to be imported from the Ukraine, and Upper Silesia respectively. The day after the party congress, the first tree was cut down by the ceremonial blow of an axe.30 Parallel to Nowa Huta, the ironworks and the new town were conceived as unity, but still urbanisation followed industrialisation. Rather telling, the location for the residential town was still unclear as the first furnace of the Eisenhüttenkombinat Ost (EKO) begun operation. The construction workers and then the ironworkers were housed in barracks—foreshadowing the deeper conflict between consumer needs and the construction of heavy industry that burst into the open in the uprising of 1953.31 In 1951 the masterplan by Kurt W. Leucht was selected for the new town, and ground was broken for the residential complex I, which was hastily erected with typified buildings. Yet the further development was seen as the opportunity to represent the new state in architecture—again through the ‘first socialist city’. Having conceptually the same roots as the Stalinallee, the new town was to be created with reference to a ‘national building tradition’—i.e. in a socialist realist style. The project in Berlin however swallowed the majority of the housing funds, causing the worker’s growing discontent towards the bigger magnitude of the avenue’s buildings. The worker settlement was finally called Stalinstadt32 in 1953—ironically after 29

Ruth May, “Planned City Stalinstadt”, 49. Italics added by the author.

Cf. Arbeitsgruppe Stadtgeschichte, Eisenhüttenstadt, 56ff.

Cf. Jajeśniak-Quast, “In the Shadow of the Factory”, 191.

Cf. Jörn Janssen, “Stalinstadt/Eisenhüttenstadt: A Milestone in Twentieth Century Urban Design in Europe”, The Journal of Architecture 5, no. 3 (2000): 311.

Cf. Elisabeth Knauer-Romani, Eisenhüttenstadt und die Idealstadt des 20. Jahrhunderts (Weimar: VDG, 2000), 17.

Cf. May, “Planned City Stalinstadt”, 48-51, 53.

Cf. Jenny Richter et al., Stalinstadt—Eisenhüttenstadt. Von der Utopie zur Gegenwart. Wandel industireller, regionaler und sozialer Strukturen in Eisenhüttenstadt (Marburg: Schüre, 1997), 18, 20f, 46.

31 Cf. Janssen, “Stalinstadt/Eisenhüttenstadt”, 311.

Cf. May, “Planned City Stalinstadt”, 48, 51.

Cf. Richter, Stalinstadt—Eisenhüttenstadt, 35, 55f.

32 Lit. Stalin-city. Since it was the Marx-year, it was planned to baptise the new town Karl-Marx-Stadt (Karl-Marxcity), but the sudden death of Stalin prompted the change of the name—a decision overturned in 1961, when the 30

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Stalin’s death—but the name-giving ceremony was the last straw, leading the residents to participate in the East German Uprising. Due to the subsequent shift in favour of consumption, the next two residential complexes II and III were to become true models for the political urbanism of the GDR.33 The first drafts for the masterplan of Stalinstadt were designed by Franz Ehrlich. A former Bauhaus student, he proposed a layout consisting of parallel rows based on a scientific conception of urbanism. The plan was dismissed for its deviation from the ‘Sixteen Town Planning Principles’, a set of guidelines decided simultaneously as the building of the new town, and a trial of the government of the GDR to spell out the doctrine of socialist realism.34 The guidelines were favouring the Soviet ideal of a compact town with clear hierarchies of use and an emphasis on the centre, and Leucht’s proposal met the demands and the required orientation on the ‘national building tradition’. Planned for 30.000 residents, the fanlike layout of the new town features a symmetrical street grid with generous green axes running through the residential areas consisting of spacious open blocks, again showing a modified cour d’honneur motif. The extensive landscaping which involved several landscape architects35, emphasises the pedestrian walkways running through the residential complexes and along the alleys, as well as the parks embedding facilities. A large square defines the centre. The undivided public spaces are representative of the new property relations under socialism, whereas the town’s relation to the ironworks expresses the search for harmony between dwelling and industry: Reading the layout as baroque radial concept, the ironwork’s furnaces dominate the perspective of the main axis—instead of a castle, the EKO forms the point de vue.36 Despite the trial to codify the socialist (realist) doctrine, the town planning programme gave no clear directives on the scale of buildings, why the realisations vary from complex to complex. Were the buildings to satisfy immediate needs in 1951 rather modest, the second and third residential complexes became more opulent as part of the ideological upgrading for the ‘new men’. The large residential blocks

town was renamed Eisenhüttenstadt. Its literal meaning is ‘ironworks-city’, a slightly awkward name prompting malapropisms as ‘Schrottgorod’—‘Schrott’ as in scrap metal plus the Russian ending for city, -gorod. The name of Karl-Marx-Stadt went to the city of Chemnitz.

33 Cf. Arbeitsgruppe Stadtgeschichte, Eisenhüttenstadt, 89.

Cf. Janssen, “Stalinstadt/Eisenhüttenstadt”, 311.

Cf. Richter, Stalinstadt—Eisenhüttenstadt, 35, 55f.

34 The doctrine of socialist realism was implemented relatively fast in the GDR despite the strong Bauhaus tendencies. Already 1948, during the Soviet Military Administration in Germany (SMAD—Sowjetische Militäradministration in Deutschland), a critique of formalism was formulated by Walter Ulbricht. A widely published article by Alexandr Dymshits, a literary scholar and commissioned officer for cultural affairs of the SMAD, is believed to have been the trigger for the definite turnaround of the cultural policies towards socialist realism. The ‘Sixteen Town Planning Principles’ were adopted as resolution of the GDR’s cabinet in 1950, at the same session in which the building of the works and town were decided. The principles were formulated during a study trip to Moscow of the same year and became binding through the implementation of the Reconstruction Act. See May, “Planned City Stalinstadt”, 53.

35 Among them Walter Funcke, a gardener and protagonist of the concept of the ‘wildlife garden’.

36 Cf. Jansen, “Stalinstadt/Eisenhüttenstadt”, 313.

Cf. May, “Planned City Stalinstadt”, 53, 55ff, 60f, 63, 65.

Cf. Richter, Stalinstadt—Eisenhüttenstadt, 94f.

10

are four-storeyed, featuring imposing gateways and several staircases. Similarly, the Gestaltungsregeln37 were not able to concretise the ‘national building tradition’, and lead to a syncretic assemblage of classicistic and Heimatschutzstil citations. After Ulbricht criticised the representation of the first complex, the second was put forward by head architect Josef Kaiser in a classicistic vocabulary resembling the Prusso-Russian and Schinkel-inspired style of the Stalinallee. The buildings’ architectural effort increases from the inside to the outside, emphasizing the corners of the block. Symmetrical segmentations dominate the façades. However, the barrel-shaped gateways and quadratic pillars as recurring motifs have a slightly ambivalent relation to the German ‘heritage’: Both were used during the national socialist regime to exalt residential buildings, the pillars were Paul Troost and Albert Speer’s go-to motif. Blanking out that connection, the workers’ palaces of complex II were supported by the notions ‘buoyant’, ‘festive’, and ‘ornate’. The third complex saw the paradoxical situation to follow the ‘national building tradition’ after Khrushchev’s denunciation of socialist realism. With Willy Stamm, a Heinrich Tessenow student, was the right man found: Keeping the symmetrical block compositions, only the proportions and accent were changed, and the Heimatschutzstil allowed for the due rationalisations and the slashing of the ‘aesthetic surplus’. Pitched roofs with hips at the block corners as well as above the gateways, stucco reliefs with folk art motifs and a harmonic colour concept bestow the buildings an Old German character. Finished in 1956, the third complex marked not only the changing climate in representation, but also a technical turn. Were the first complexes built with traditional methods and materials, the later used prefabricated large-blocks and panels—although it has to be noted, that the town was built almost entirely with building materials produced in the EKO. Lightweight pumice slag bricks for walls, ceilings, and roofing tiles came all from the ironworks’ discarded blast furnace slag.38 The town’s dependence on the ironworks was also laid down in the allocation of apartments. Eighty percent of the flats belonged to the combinate and were subsequently used as rewards for worthy shock workers. The units were built in a higher standard and relatively spacious and modern with integrated kitchens and bathrooms. Although cooking and baking, washing, and upbringing were socialised into facilities, the core family established the unit, and the buildings’ floors were divided into two to four apartments. Typified floor plans were not yet used, and for complexes II and III individual floor plans were designed. They were perceived as not entirely satisfactory due to the subordination of the functional aspects to the representational outside. Nevertheless, together with the salaries of the ironworks that were well above standard, the apartments were quite affordable, attracting workers and families alike.39

37

Again, the German name for ‘design and composition rules’ carries additional meanings.

Cf. Knauer-Romani, Eisenhüttenstadt und die Idealstadt, 143, 146ff, 151f.

Cf. May, “Planned City Stalinstadt”, 65.

Cf. Richter, Stalinstadt—Eisenhüttenstadt, 94f.

39 Cf. May, “Planned City Stalinstadt”, 65.

Cf. Knauer-Romani, Eisenhüttenstadt und die Idealstadt, 143ff.

Cf. Richter, Stalinstadt—Eisenhüttenstadt, 29, 36.

38

11

Stalinstadt therefore resembled Nowa Huta in quite some aspects. The subordination of dwelling to industry is especially explicit, both in construction order and orientation—and in the social consequences as well. Accounts of bored workers engaging in drinking and brawls due to the unbalanced sex and age distribution as well as an initial lack of cultural distractions40 are equally on hand for Stalinstadt. Yet the dissimilarities point towards the underlying ambiguities of socialist realist town planning. The frantic attempt of the GDR to establish binding principles and rules concerning the socialist realist doctrine reveal on one side the difficulty of its translation into architecture, on the other a perplexing mixture of compliance and home-grown initiative. Furthermore, the hierarchical layout of Stalinstadt may be read as functionalist in its separation of programmes and circulation ways and use of greenery despite its historicist garb—a reading that is enforced through the seamless transition from the axial town into the linearity of the newer residential complexes. Simultaneously is Leucht’s proposal exemplary for a ‘national reconstruction’, inscribing humanist German traditions into the planning vis-à-vis a ‘socialist reconstruction’ favouring the perspective of development. Mirroring the two parts of the formula ‘socialist in content—national in form’, Ehrlich contributed an abstract and innovative proposal, as May argues, whereas Leucht’s conception contributed a sensual-conservative image of the town as the ‘form’.41 The town’s layout embodies thus a conciliation between functional and traditional aspects—beyond its rise and fall as Soviet model.42

iv.

Search for the Right Pattern—Nová Ostrava

Architects, town planners and other specialists taking part in town and country planning are well aware of the responsibility of their work, which they accomplish gladly because it is directly connected with the raising of the standard of life and the improvement of the environment of all people. And that is the aim of our socialist State.43

While fighting still continued in Moravia and Bohemia in 1945, a pro-Soviet provisional government— the Košice government—already exercised jurisdiction in the eastern part of Czechoslovakia inaugurating far-reaching socialist programmes, such as the nationalisation of large industries and redistribution of property. Architects were at the forefront of these changes, the Union of Socialist Architects regrouped

40

As in Nowa Huta, ‘culture’ was ‘grafted’ on top of the city and cultural facilities with a slight delay. As special event for Stalinstadt, still the Shostakovich concert in 1952 is recounted.

41 The comparison between the two competing planning conceptions reveals even more of the underlying ambiguity in the formula, and the reality of bureaucracy: Ehrlich was backed by the Ministry of Industry favouring an idea of an integrate plan of works and town, efficient, modern and characterised by the mentioned socialist perspective of planning. Whereas behind Leucht was standing the Ministry of Construction, favouring a self-image of ‘national tradition’.

Cf. May, “Planned City Stalinstadt”, 61.

42 Cf. Janssen, “Stalinstadt/Eisenhüttenstadt”, 307, 309, 314.

Cf. May, “Planned City Stalinstadt”, 47f, 59, 61.

43 Jiří Hrůza, Town Planning in Czechoslovakia (Prague: Association of Czechoslovak Architects and the State Board for Construction, 1958), 194.

12

immediately after the war, founding the Block of Progressive Architectural Associations (BAPS—Blok architektonických pokrokových spolků) including most of the avant-garde architects. The BAPS promised full cooperation in the construction of the state, taking a progressive stance towards socialist architecture as scientific pursuit. This new architecture emphasised programme and function over aesthetics, highlighting the modernising character of the inter-war projects. Karel Janů’s book Socialist Building44, in which he expands Teige-influenced arguments for the industrialisation of architecture, captures the climate of the Two-Year Plan in an exemplary way. The modernist legacy was also used together with the reference to a shared heritage of folk housing types to construct a new collective memory unifying the Czech and Slovak peoples—the ‘Czechoslovak road to socialism’. The communists’ coup d’état of 1948 shifted the architectural discussion towards socialist realism, though not yet with its connotation of imitating Soviet models. The personnel and concerns at the Czechoslovak Building Works (Československý stavební závod)45, the state-run organisation responsible for all building concerns after the nationalisation of the building sector and its design-wing Stavoprojekt46 mirrored the change in climate: The first directors, the avant-garde members Jiří Voženílek, a former Baťa employee and Karel Janů, would propel the pre-war thrust towards industrialisation and standardisation. Janů in particular would enforce the notion of the architect as ‘fighter’ on the front lines of the struggle to fulfil the First Five-Year Plan, and as being essential in ‘building socialism’. Was this architectural leadership relatively independent in the first few years of the new regime, by 1950 the tide turned in socialist realism’s favour. Jiří Kroha, himself an avant-garde member and director of an oversight organ47, would question the economic functionalism from the beginning, and push Stavoprojekt to adopt socialist realist methods for artistic reasons. With mass arrests and show trials under way, the political elite buckled under the Soviets’ pressure and removed Janů and Voženílek from their posts. Stavoprojekt began to produce high-profile socialist realist projects subsequently, and Kroha became one of the rising architects.48 Indeed, the approaches of an either ‘home-grown’ or (forced-upon) Soviet socialism were also played out in the interpretation of the socialist realist doctrine after its implementation, with each finding

44

Karel Janů, Socialistické Budování. Oč půjde ve stavebnictví a architecture, (Prague: Dr. Ed. Gréga a syna, 1946).

The organisation existed from 1948 to 1951 before being incorporated into the Ministry of Building Industry. As national enterprise, it was simulating competitive market conditions and administering design and construction tasks.

46 Established 1948 and running until 1990, modelled after Baťa. Etc. Standardisation of working methods and documentation, centralisation of resources and information, creation of a strong institutional hierarchy.

Czechoslovak design sector owned more to the national industrial and architectural history than to the Soviet directives.

Cf. Kimberly Elman Zarecor, Manufacturing a Socialist Modernity. Housing in Czechoslovakia, 1945-1960 (Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press, 2011), 72, 78.

47 Architectural Council of Stavoprojekt 48 Cf. Radomíra Sedláková, Sorela. Česká architektura padesátých let (Prague: Národní Galerie, 1994), 67.

Cf. Maroš Krivý, “Postmodernism or Socialist Realism? The Architecture of Housing Estates in Late Socialist Czechoslovakia”, Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians 75, no. 1 (March 2016): 76.

Cf. Zarecor, Manufacturing, 7-10, 13-16, 35f, 38, 71f, 77ff, 113ff, 121.

45

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a political equivalent.49 The first attempt was the literal imitation of Soviet examples. The second tried to create a style inspired by Soviet methods but adapting again50 Czech and Slovak national and rural symbols while keeping the set of housing types developed at Stavoprojekt—this prerequisite though would eventually deepen the dichotomy between the ‘formal’ and ‘national’ aspect of socialist realism. In the end, the indigenous version prevailed in practice, allowing for a more tactical use of the national heritage.

Consequently, the output of Sorela—how socialist realism in Czechoslovakia was to be called mockingly— was quite productive, including the neighbourhoods and new towns of Handlová, Vorošilovo (Nová Dubnica), Havířov, and Nová Ostrava. The latter would become a showing example of the emergence and decline of socialist realism in the ČSSR.51 As in the previous cases, industry was the motor of the settlement’s development. The discovery of extensive coal deposits in the 18th century and the subsequent systematic mining and establishment of an ironworks, changed the structure of the region into an economic powerhouse, with the city Ostrava in its centre. The works were continuously enlarged, eventually becoming in 1873 the largest iron- and steelworks in the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy. It even outlasted the changes into several ownerships. As the further development was limited due to the ironworks’ location directly in the city, a southern plant was built in Kunčice in 1942. The remaining buildings—the new plant was transported wholesale to the USSR as war booty—were merged with the Vítkovice corporation, expanded, and 1951 nationalised into the Nová huť Klementa Gottwalda (new ironworks of Klement Gottwald). This second expansion was accompanied by a regional settlement plan envisaging the slum clearance of Old Ostrava and the construction of the satellite towns Ostrava-Stalingrad (Belský Les), Nová Ostrava (Poruba), and Havířov to receive the influx of workers.52 Stavoprojekt Ostrava’s team led by Vladimír Meduna proposed a civic centre with housing and facilities for 150.000 residents westward of the old city on tested grounds. The construction of the new settlement was advertised as the creation of the ‘first socialist city’, a complementary and antidote to the spaces of manual work in the steelworks and mines. Meduna’s rhetoric emphasised a productive landscape of leisure, culture, and beauty, and was envisioned in grandiose terms: At an inhuman scale, the site would be terraced to rise above the Oder river valley, the city would be located on the banks of a new 120 meters wide Oder-Danube canal, and wedding-cake like towers would dominate the primary axes. As Russophile,

49

Supporting the imitations was Václav Kopecký, the minister of information, who would have worked directly with Andrei Zhdanov, responsible for Soviet Russia’s cultural policies. On the other side was the minister of education and culture, Zdeněk Nejedlý, who argued for the adaptation of national and folk traditions.

Cf. Zarecor, Manufacturing, 134.

50 Or still. Rural and folk forms were used as inspirations for the typification attempts already!

Cf. Zarecor, Manufacturing, 86f.

51 Cf. Sedláková, Sorela, 68.

Cf. Zarecor, Manufacturing, 86f, 117, 125f, 131, 134.

52 Cf. Hrůza, Town Planning, 118, 157.

Cf. Jajeśniak-Quast, “In the Shadow of the Factory”, 193f.

14

it is hardly surprising that the first conception of Nová Ostrava resembled more a classicistic Soviet model, both in style and scale. However, as ambitions and capacity clashed, the project was scaled down, making way for a representative yet more humane project. One obstacle was the existing condition of the site: Not only needed a baroque manor house and a church to be accommodated, but in the early 1950s were already a couple of workers houses built. Offering evidence for changing ideologies, these standardised houses (Type 12 blocks) were built in parallel rows, and one group even took on the courtyard configuration of Meduna’s plan. The team around Meduna subsequently decided to wrap the first district around the existing buildings, deemphasising them. The masterplan run at a 45-degree angle to the rows, consisting of four neighbourhoods of which two were pursued. Two main axes organised the plan symmetrically, although the North-South axis would change direction mid-way. The conceptual centrepiece was the oblouk53, a gigantic curved apartment building with two large archways and a tower. This site-specific design marked the entry to the town while hiding the existent development. The street passing underneath would eventually curve—the change in direction would be marked by another residential tower. The monumental boulevard and the axis coming from the oblouk would cross at a large traffic circle, emphasised by the taller corner buildings. The neighbourhood consisted of quite large perimeter blocks organised around generous courtyards with shared open spaces and were entered through gateways in the buildings. Courtyard blocks in nested cour d’honneur configurations would organise the estates together through small pedestrian streets and integrated facilities. Monumentality was achieved mainly through the ensemble, with the exception of the curved gate building. In that regard, the urban scheme may be linked also in this case to the Viennese social housing from the 1920s. The oblouk found its predecessor probably in Carlo di Giovanni Rossi’s54 General Staff Building in St. Petersburg. As built, Nová Ostrava was scaled to the pedestrian, enabling the interpenetration of public and semi-private spaces. Each block was designed by a different group of the over hundred architects involved, achieving a sense of variety despite the utilisation of type buildings.55 Standardisation then is also what sets Nová Ostrava apart from the other two cases, as efforts in prefabrication and mass production predated state socialism by decades in the ČSSR. A Model Housing Development Programme was established during the Two-Year Plan, and in 1949, the Ministry of Technology made the use of types for new buildings compulsory. Several institutes and research centres56

53

Meaning literally arch in Czech.

An Italian-Russian architect working in Imperial Russia, also known as Karl Ivanovich Rossi.

55 Cf. Hrůza, Town Planning, 65.

Cf. Krivý, “Postmodernism”, 76, 89.

Cf. Zarecor, Manufacturing, 110, 115, 150-153, 156, 159, 161f, 165ff, 173ff.

56 Typification and Standardisation Institute (Typizační a normalizační ústav), later the Education and Typification Institute (Studijní a typizační ústav) under the direction of Erich Kohn, within the institute were different research centres under the direction of Karel Storch, as well as the Department of Housing under the direction of Miroslaf Wimmer. The institutes were publishing yearly a typification guide. Jiří Voženílek on the other hand became the director of the new Institute of Architecture and Town Planning (Ústav architektury a územního plánování), after the end of his tenure at Stavoprojekt. This institute would promote the historical study of local architecture, and 54

15

within Stavoprojekt were responsible for the establishment of types, the adoption of standard building modules, and the research into prefabrication methods—with the aim to economise and industrialise the building sector. These running programmes were influencing the building, apartment typology, use of material and even the way in which the buildings in Nová Ostrava were represented.57 Starting in 1950, the buildings of the T-series were built across the country and made up ninety percent of all housing of the same year. Only a few housing types were used in comparison to other countries—a fact quite proudly published.58 These apartment buildings conformed usually to a rectangular footprint and were built in brick, later in a large-brick construction. The T-series was also applied in Nová Ostrava, types T14 and T15 constituting the majority of the first district. The five to six storeys high T15 block included a floor layout consisting of four units per floor with an average size of two rooms, a combined kitchen and dining area, and a bathroom. Although the flats were small, in average around 32 square metres, they all had hot water, central heating, a storage space in the basement, and rooms for washing and drying clothes. Hence, they offered basic conveniences in face of a severe shortage in housing. Indeed, the oblouk as site-specific design—and as showpiece—did not comply to the standards. Small connector buildings needed to attach the semi-circle to the adjacent blocks.59 The first two districts of Nová Ostrava were built almost entirely in a large-block construction method using prefabricated slag-pumice blocks for weight reduction and prefabricated reinforced concrete floor panels and stairways. Later buildings used hybrids with concrete skeletons or panels, or even loadbearing panel systems. As a method, ‘flow construction’ (proudová stavění)60 would be tried out, one worker being assigned only one task to repeat. Nevertheless, due to shortages in material and labour, only twenty percent would be built in 1956 when socialist realism fell out of favour.61 In face of this strong rational heritage, the demand for a socialist realist representation of architecture seems reactionary—and many Czechoslovak architects perceived the doctrine as depriving them of their own architectural beliefs. Yet again the ‘Czechoslovak road’ achieved to reconcile the seemingly opposed demands, while solving the economic problem of the shortage of artisans. Beyond a purely formal use to give the appearance of acceptance, Czech and Slovak historic and folk references were research on building methods—the latter aspect was until the decline of Sorela underplayed. It would then become the Research Institute for Construction and Architecure (Výzkumný útav výstavby a architektury).

Cf. Zarecor, Manufacturing, 263.

57 Cf. Hrůza, Town Planning, 158.

Cf. Zarecor, Manufacturing, 96, 263.

58 Architektura ČSR 1950 in: Zarecor, Manufacturing, 98.

59 Cf. Hrůza, Town Planning, 157, 160, 192.

Cf. Zarecor, Manufacturing, 102, 105f, 108, 110, 112, 161f.

60 Although applied at the scale of a large apartment building rather than a row house or singlefamily house, flow construction was similar to the building method Gropius employed at Törten-Dessau and later American builders such as Levitt & Sons used in their Levittown projects.

Cf. Zarecor, Manufacturing, 260.

61 Cf. Karel Storch, New Techniques and Architecture in Czechoslovakia (Svaz architektů v ČSSR, 1961), 13-23.

Cf. Zarecor, Manufacturing, 112, 152, 259f, 277f.

16

used as integral part of the underlying technical logic: Decorative elements were prefabricated in gypsum, sheet metal, and wrought iron, and then mounted to the type buildings, and prefabricated stoneware was used as outdoor sculpture. Additionally to the many folklore sgraffito decorations, one of the tower buildings in Nová Ostrava references the Bohemian Renaissance and is modelled on the Schwarzenberg Palace in Prague, other details quote the Hussite city of Tábor.62 Indeed, the mere ‘decoration’ with national symbols reveals the ambiguity of the socialist realist’s doctrine in a drastic way as the ‘national form’ is easy peeled off the façades. However, unifying the production method both for the building and its embellishment allowed a balance between the ‘socialist content’ and ‘national form’, as well as between the Soviet’s demand and the ‘true’ national heritage, while at the same time creating an image of the ‘first socialist city’ resonating with the inhabitants. In this regard, Nová Ostrava can be read as manifestation of the success of the socialist system—until the Soviet Union’s reform 1954 that is, when Stavoprojekt abandoned any ‘decorative’ schemes within months, returning to their true technocratic vision, that remained until the very end of the socialist regime.63

v.

The Space In-Between—Conclusion

Socialist realism does not exhaust itself in formal aspects. There is much more behind the decorative façades than mere prefabricated brick blocks. The initial similarities of the three cases of Nowa Huta, Stalinstadt, and Nová Ostrava, hide a conflict between the representational demand of socialism and its translation into the spatial reality of the town. All three towns share related stories of their origins, being subordinated to the development of heavy industry while simultaneously being envisioned and conceptualised as paradigms of a new social order as well as new socialist town. As ‘outpost’ of socialism, each of these settlements was founded virtually ex novo on agricultural land in order to industrialise it, in the midst of a forest to acknowledge a new national border, or even in direct opposition to ‘bourgeois cosmopolitanism’ to assert an ideological claim. Indeed, these ‘first socialist cities’ are all proof for differently navigating and negotiating the two parts of the socialist doctrine: ‘Socialist in content—national in form’. Nowa Huta is representing the probably most canonical example of the cases, illustrating the political instrumentalization of the socialist realist doctrine and the subsequent enforcement of ideology. Stalinstadt demonstrates the attempt to codify said doctrine, but also confesses the interpretational leeway thereof, whereas Nová Ostrava revealed a kind of convergence between the ‘socialist content’ and ‘national form’, together with an account

62

Notably, both, socialist realists as well as the drivers behind the standardisation were recurring to the ‘traditional’—usually Slovak—village as justification and inspiration: The latter were using the clustered cottages of the countryside as ‘natural typification’.

Cf. Zarecor, Manufacturing, 86.

63 Cf. Krivý, “Postmodernism”, 77.

Cf. Zarecor, Manufacturing, 114, 112,118f, 135f, 152f, 165f, 170, 176, 259.

17

of the architects becoming aware of their own position. The latter is also the most exemplary case of the undercurrent trajectory of technocratic planning as modernist legacy. A trajectory that is spanning from modernist utopian planning to ideologically charged socialist planning subsuming past references—here the convergence in prefabricated decoration as in Nová Ostrava—to finally ‘just’ planning in the post-Stalin era, where the ‘naked truth’ came quite literally to the fore as the trajectory ended with the most technocratic vision: The visible joints of the prefabricated elements.

The real battleground between the representational ambitions and the technological progress though is found in the urban perimeter block, absorbing and simultaneously representing all these tendencies: Functionalist zoning, baroque axiality, modernist greenspaces, being envisioned as palace, built despite material and labour shortages, with the newest technologies, mediating between work and reproduction, projecting the future, honouring memories, and over all carrying the trajectory of planning.

It becomes explicit in the block, when it is slowly transformed to being completely prefabricated, eventually disappearing into Khrushchev’s Zeilenbauten.

Yet, beyond all of that, socialist realist urban design manifests an attempt to create a good home.

The ambiguous space in between these blocks and sensibilities is not only a back and forth between redan and Zeile, but a unique urban concept, enabling within the framework of state socialism to create islands for the workers—islands that still provide valuable spaces to their inhabitants.

18

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